Epilogue
Wyatt had never been so nervous at a rodeo in his life. Not even the first time he’d fought bulls. Having to step up and perform under pressure was his version of crack. But this…being forced to stand by and watch, with no control over the outcome…
“Next up is Melanie Darrington, from Pendleton, Oregon,” the announcer declared. “She didn’t join us until almost halfway through the season, and it’s taken a while for her to get on a roll. The rodeo here in Colfax is her last chance to qualify for our regional finals, but she’ll have to place deep to do it.”
As always, Wyatt’s chest got tight and achy at the introduction. He’d never thought he’d be proud of the Darrington name until Melanie had decided to wear it. Wyatt had offered to marry her in a church but she’d refused, insisting on cramming their friends and most of their regulars onto the patio of the Bull Dancer. Helen and Miz Iris had sniffled together in the front row until it was time to dish out the massive amounts of food they’d cooked up in the bar kitchen. And Louie—who had been ordained via an online ministry in order to perform his niece’s wedding ceremony—had presided over the festivities.
The bride wore Wyatt’s favorite sky-blue sundress with scarlet poppies—and white peep-toe pumps. The groom wore cowboy boots.
Tonight she and Roy both appeared to be totally relaxed as they strolled into the arena. His coat gleamed golden under the lights, and his black mane and tail matched the shirt and hat that made her look lean and deadly—like a gunslinger about to step into the street for a showdown. She took a couple of easy practice swings. Wyatt gripped the fence rail so hard his fingers went numb. As she backed Roy into the corner of the roping box, both of their gazes fixed on the calf in the chute. She cocked her arm back and nodded her head.
Swing, swing, swing…zap!
The loop curled around the calf’s neck, and she ripped the slack out as Roy slammed on the brakes. Pop! The rope snapped free from the saddle horn, the loose end flying in a high, graceful arc under the lights.
“Two point eight seconds!” the announcer shouted. “That’ll put her in second place for the moment, with only one roper to go. Now there’s a lady who really knows how to come through in the clutch.”
Yes. Melanie would always come through, one way or another.
Even for people who hadn’t stood up for her. She had ultimately gone back to Westwind Feeds, but only long enough to establish order in the aftermath of Leachman’s arrest. She’d also assisted in choosing and training an interim CEO—Anna from the lab, who had a business degree along with her master’s in biotech. She still called or emailed Melanie at least once a week, and between them, they had persuaded the board to add scientific credentials to the list of requirements for CEO candidates.
With Melanie’s help, Anna was making it very difficult to choose anyone but her.
A pointed elbow dug into Wyatt’s ribs. “Dude. You can take a breath now.”
Glaring at Scotty, Wyatt peeled his fingers off the rail and shook the feeling back into them. Honest to God. This wasn’t even for the big money. He had a whole new respect for rodeo wives who had to sit in the stands and watch their husbands duke it out for world championships. Tori had had to suffer through four National Finals with Delon in gold buckle contention every time, twice successfully. Maybe she could teach Wyatt some breathing exercises. Or share her tranquilizers.
On the return trip from retrieving the rope her calf had dragged to the catch pen, Melanie swung by and held out a hand for Wyatt to slap in congratulations. Her smile shimmered with triumph. “Now you can concentrate on initiating your babies.”
As the final breakaway roper exited the arena—she hadn’t come close to beating Melanie’s time—the music made the familiar switch to a deep, ominous bass riff. All of the sudden, Scotty wasn’t quite so cocky, his freckles standing out against his paler-than-usual cheeks as he danced from foot to foot. Philip’s face looked like it had been carved from brown basalt stone. Wyatt rubbed his hands together in anticipation as his pulse revved up from long habit.
Time to have some fun.
The announcer’s voice rang out above the music. “As some of you know, tonight’s performance is very special for two young gentlemen…and for those of us who get to be here to watch. This was the very first rodeo Wyatt Darrington ever worked as a bullfighter, and as a nod to that tradition, each year he brings his latest protégés here to make their official debuts. Keep your eyes open, folks, because you may be about to meet future legends. But first, please welcome the man himself, seven-time professional bullfighter of the year, Wyatt Darrington!”
The roar as he stepped away from the chutes and saluted the crowd nearly drowned out the remainder of the introductions. He was pretty sure neither Scotty or Philip noticed. Wyatt strolled by and slapped Scotty on the back. “What was that you said about breathing?”
Scotty flipped him off. Wyatt laughed.
And then they all moved into position as the first bull rider climbed down into the chute and took his wraps. He nodded his head, the gate swung open…and two more careers were born.
* * *
Half an hour later, Melanie was waiting for them behind the bucking chutes as they shouldered their way through a flurry of backslaps and handshakes. Both Scotty and Philip were grinning so hard they were going to have permanent creases—with good reason. They’d made a couple of nice saves, their timing perfect as they leapt in front of fallen riders and lured the bulls away. Wyatt hadn’t had to do anything but hang out on the perimeter and watch as all the hard work they’d done over the summer came to fruition.
There were moments that Wyatt wondered if he’d fallen into a coma and this was just an extended dream. Everything was going so well, it was almost frightening. Laura had pouted for a while after they’d had their long-overdue talk, but when she’d stomped off to their room, Julianne had hugged Wyatt and quietly thanked him. They were disappointed that Melanie had chosen to keep her distance, but again Julianne had understood, and Laura would just have to deal.
Wyatt had stayed behind when Melanie went to tell Hank that she was getting married, but both Bing and Gil had been with her when she went to see her brother. Hank hadn’t said a word, just stomped off into the woods. This time, Gil had gone after him while Bing hugged Melanie and told her she was doing the right thing.
Melanie hadn’t tried to see him since. As promised, though, Bing kept her updated. Most recently, she’d called to say that Hank had been roped into coaching a flag football team at the elementary school and was amazingly good with the kids. Maybe because he’d been one for so long, Melanie had said, her dry humor a sign that Hank wasn’t the only one on the path to recovery.
Grace was back in the Panhandle, whipping the athletic training program at Bluegrass High School into shape and, whether she liked it or not, becoming Shawnee’s protégé.
“That girl needs to acquire some attitude,” Shawnee had declared. “And I happen to have plenty to spare.”
Heaven help them all if she succeeded in passing it along.
Melanie sauntered over to give Scotty and Philip a hug and an attaboy before she slid an arm around Wyatt’s waist and held up her cell phone. “Check this out.”
The text included a photo of a familiar bronze Ford, a slender blond leaning on the bumper with a triumphant grin and her arms spread possessively across the grill. I got the pickup. I thought you’d like to know. Best wishes.
It was from Michael Miller’s newly ex-wife.
Wyatt laughed. Damn, karma was a beautiful bitch.
“Celebrations are in order.” Melanie gave him a squeeze. “Whaddaya think, cowboy? Wanna get lucky?”
He inhaled the heady aromas of rosin, bull manure, and man sweat. A haze of dust floated under the lights on a background of velvety-black sky, and the woman he craved more than the adrenaline that still pulsed in his veins was tucked close against his side.
“I can’t imagine how a man could be any more blessed.”
She poked him in the belly. “Careful, there. Someone might hear you.”
He tilted his head back to smile straight up into the heavens. “In that case, I’d better say thank you.”
Order Kari Lynn Dell’s next book
in the Texas Rodeo series
Mistletoe in Texas
On sale October 2018